Sick Mike Oneshots
by Miss DiNozzo
Summary: As a huge sickfic fan, I've really wanted to see more sick!Mike. So naturally I wrote a million stories about it. I'm taking requests, so just hit me up in the comments.
1. (Home)Sick

Mike has the television on silent as he listens to the sounds of the quiet house. Rain is pouring heavily on the roof, a pitter pat that fills Mike with familiarity and comfort. It would rain for weeks back home in New York, but here in California it is a much less common occurrence. Normally when it storms, he will sit in the living room and just stare at it as it pummels the thick floor to ceiling glass, but tonight he can't find the energy to drag himself downstairs from his bedroom to watch.

Soft light from the screen illuminates the loft space. Some crappy sitcom is playing that lost Mike's interest a while ago, but he leaves it on anyways, for company. It provides little distraction from the crippling homesickness he feels.

It's nights like this one, where it rains harshly, that Mike finds himself missing home the most. Yes, he loves Charlie's cooking, but sometimes he just wants a cup of his mother's homemade broccoli cheese soup. He often wishes he could be hanging out with Andrew, his best friend since kindergarten, instead of his roommates. His life out here is incredible, but it is complicated and he yearns for the simplicity of coming home to people he isn't lying to. And then, of course, there's the weather.

Tonight, it is worse because of the fact it's nearly five in the morning and no one is around to comfort him. Usually when he gets like this Paige or Charlie would sit with him and just listen, or they'd sit in a contented silence until he could get his mind off of it. The silence tonight, however, is anything but content. It is dark and he is alone. Mike sniffles wetly.

And, oh yes, there's _that_.

Mike had woken up around three thirty this morning because he couldn't breathe through his nose, which is now running like a tap. His head was aching something awful and when he'd laid down he felt nauseous. So finally, he'd dragged his bedding out to the couch in the loft area to watch some TV. Mike coughs into the crook of his elbow and shifts his comforter around his shoulders as a shiver runs through him. He can't seem to get warm.

If Mike were back home in his apartment with Andrew, he'd have woken Andrew up and the two of them would be watching Mike's favorite movies while they sipped at mugs of tea. Mike can picture it now, the two of them in their college sweatshirts and pajama pants all huddled up on the couch as Top Gun rolls through its opening credits. Andrew would bring him a cup of chamomile tea with honey and a bowl of soup and they'd watch until either the movie ended or they both fell asleep, whichever came first.

Mike smiles at the idea, but he punctuates his smile with a dejected sigh. He'll never have that with anyone here, he doesn't think. Johnny and Paul are good people to admire (and to drink with), but he doesn't look at them as brothers like he does Andrew. And Jakes is well, Jakes. Charlie's a friend, but he just feels like there is always a wall. And Paige? He doesn't even know where to start with her. Bottom line, he's never going to look at her the way he would a sibling.

Mike sighs and pulls out his phone. He clicks through to Andrew's contact and clicks the call button. It's eight o' clock on the east coast and they've been keeping in fairly good contact since he left, but it still feels awkward. Mike doesn't know whether to be disappointed or grateful that Andrew doesn't pick up. He frowns as he tucks his phone away and turns his attention back to the mind numbing television show.

The minutes pass like hours, but just before six the rain lightens and comes to a complete stop. Mere minutes later, Johnny comes tearing past in a wetsuit and is halfway down the staircase when he seems to register Mike's presence in the loft.

"God, dude, you just came out of nowhere," Johnny groans dramatically as he turns around and makes his way back up the stairs. Mike shrugs and Johnny plants himself down on the couch. "Well I guess this explains why I didn't find you in your room," Johnny mumbles slyly as he wiggles his eyebrows, "Guess I just figured you and Paige finally—"

"Stop," Mike cuts him off. "Let's just back it up. Paige and I didn't, you know," Mike trails off, feeling extremely awkward, his cheeks positively burning under his roommates scrutinizing gaze.

"You sure Paige didn't just kick you out because of your _performance_?" Johnny snickers, grinning from ear to ear as Mike shifts uncomfortably. "Nah, I'm just playing Mikey. Wanna go surfing? With the weather rolling in, there's supposed to be some killer waves out there today."

Mike's stomach churns at the thought of being tossed by the waves, at falling off. He's still a beginner and the falling is more common than the actual surfing.

"Nah, man. I'm okay," Mike mumbles hoarsely, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head on them. He lets his eyes slip closed to block out the light that is now starting to stream in through the skylights. "Thanks for the invite, though."

"Why are you up so early, Mikey?" Paul asks, rounding the corner carrying his surfboard. "It's not even six."

Mike presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and leans back into the couch. "Couldn't sleep," he mumbles eloquently, opening his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Paul seems to accept this, but he keeps looking at Mike with a weird glint in his eyes. "What?" Mike grinds out around a cough when his two roommates just proceeded to stare at him.

"No offense bro, but you kinda look like shit." Johnny leans closer, resting his arms on his knees as he inspects Mike more closely. His cheeks are flushed a bright pink that stands out against his pale face and his eyes are red like he's been crying (which he has). He looks exhausted.

"Makes sense," Mike nods, "m'not exactly feeling great." Paul sets down his board and sits down on the coffee table across from Mike. He reaches across and palms his rookie's forehead, noting the heat there. He moves his hand to Mike's cheek and wipes away a tear with his thumb that Mike didn't even realize was falling.

"Oh, Mikey," Paul speaks gently, "What's the matter?" Mike struggles to catch his breath as he starts to cry harder. He shakes as the sobs wrack his body, trying and failing to get a hold of himself. This is unprofessional. These are his colleagues and he needs to control himself.

"S-sorry," Mike stutters as he slows his breathing and his tears begin to subside. He closes his eyes as Paul brushes a hair back out of his eyes. "You guys just go surf, I'm fine."

"The hell you are," Paul says. "We're not just going to leave you here after that. Tell me what's wrong and tell me now." Mike sighs and leans forward, resting his head in his hands. The world is spinning and it's making him dizzy just sitting there. He really isn't feeling well.

"Feel sick," He finally mumbles, punctuating his sentence with a sniffle. Paul fights not to roll his eyes at the younger man. They already have that information, but if that's all they're going to get out of him, then so be it.

"JT," Paul directs quietly, "Go grab the thermometer." Johnny leaps up and skitters down the hallway, leaving Paul to sit with Mike. "Kid, is that really all that's wrong?" Mike starts to nod his head but slows, receiving a glare from Paul. "Don't lie to me, Mike."

Mike sighs and looks away from his mentor. Paul really doesn't need to deal with his emotional touchy feely side. He doesn't want to, either. Mike suddenly feels incredibly guilty at making himself a burden for them. They were supposed to go surfing but now he's having a mental breakdown in the loft and they're his audience.

"I wanna go home," Mike mumbles almost inaudibly, but Paul hears it.

"Oh kid," Paul soothes, crawling over to the couch and wrapping Mike in a tight embrace. Mike is stunned. Paul Briggs doesn't do this, or maybe he does. Mike guesses he really doesn't know. Either way, someone is comforting him and he melts into Paul's arms gladly. "I miss my family, too."

Mike sighs and pulls away from Paul. "Really?" He means it to sound skeptical, but he's so upset that it sounds more sincere than he intends it to. Paul nods his head slowly.

"Yeah, kid, I do," He says quietly, looking down. "My mom, my siblings, my friends—all of them. It's hard being out here and away from all of them." Mike just leans into his mentor's side and gently rests his head on his shoulder. Paul is unfazed by the gesture, but pulls the blanket Mike had been wrapped in around the both of them. It's comfortable, and Mike allows his eyes to close as he is warm for the first time since he woke up.

They stay like that until Johnny returns with the thermometer and pops it in Mike's exposed ear. The reading shows them that Mike does indeed have a temperature, but it isn't high enough to warrant a lot of worry.

Paul makes him toast for breakfast and sits outside with him on the sand. The sun is warm and holds them in a relaxed embrace as Mike slowly feels himself falling asleep with his head on Paul's chest. It might not be tea and a movie, but it's Paul's version of affection, and that's really all Mike needs.

Johnny listens to Mike's records with him after lunch. They work slowly through his extensive Eighties collection and are just dipping their toes into the best of The B-52s by the time dinner comes around. Charlie makes tomato soup and grilled cheese that warms Mike to his core and quiets the shivers that have been wracking through him all day.

As it turns out, Paige has a thing for foreign films and the two of them watch _The Women on the 6th Floor_. It's in French, but Paige pities him and turns on the subtitles for his "barely bilingual ass." They watch in the living room until it's late and they both need to sleep. The next morning, Charlie is kind enough to not comment on how she found Mike's room empty and Paige's room at double occupancy.

It may not be Top Gun with his best friend, but it was the same kind of caring. The agents in Graceland have really taken him in. This isn't the East Coast, not by a long shot, but Mike has never been happier to be where he is.


	2. Always

He looked up from his book when the door opened, not surprised to see Paige hovering there in the doorway. She'd been dropping in periodically all day, sometimes bearing gifts, sometimes not. This time, she had a bright blue bowl in her hands, a spoon sticking out the side. Her face was tentative but he smiled warmly at her and beckoned her in.

"I brought soup." Her voice was soft as she padded lightly into his bedroom, setting the steaming bowl on his nightstand and sitting next to him on the bed. She brushed a strand of hair back off of his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Mike mumbled, eyes half lidded and a lazy smile playing on his face. He was exhausted but she could always find a way to make him perk up. "My head really hurts, though."

Paige softened at this, laying a cool hand on Mike's forehead, feeling the fever resting there. Mike had gone into work this morning around seven thirty, but no one was surprised to see him when he came back around eleven. He'd been complaining of a stomach ache last night and turned in early, but apparently he'd gotten worse today at work because Clarke had sent him home with strict orders not to come back until he was sure he wouldn't pass out reading a file.

"I'm sorry, Mikey," She lowered her voice, "I wish you felt better." Mike sighed, closing his book and setting it aside. He scooted over in the bed, making room for her.

"Lie with me?" Paige smiled warmly and adjusted so she was lying next to him. He rested his head on her shoulder and she wrapped her arms around his frame.

"Always."

 **So, that's ridiculously short, but the common theme seems to be that everyone wants more pike. And this little puppy's been sitting in my folder for like a year, so, here. As always, review and subscribe! I'll have more soon.**


	3. Calculated Risks

**Okay, so, new chapter. This is an AU I've been playing around with in which Paul and Charlie are married parents of four. Mike's the youngest, a high school senior. As always, read and review.**

The words on the page in front of him were blurring in and out of focus. Equations were dancing around and swirling with his work, the symbols twisting and turning. He'd only managed to complete three problems in twenty minutes, and at this rate, Mike wouldn't even _finish_ the test, let alone pass it.

Maybe he should just go home - tell the teacher he felt ill and check himself out. He'd vetoed the idea last hour when he'd only had a slightly nauseous stomach and a headache, but now he was so dizzy he felt like he would pass out. He was cold and hot simultaneously and things seemed to only be getting worse. He knew he needed to leave.

Resolved, he stood up with his test and his books, shuffling towards his calculus teacher.

"Mrs. Meyers?" The teacher looked up from the papers she was grading.

"Yes, Mike?" She spoke quietly, mirroring his volume.

"I'm not feeling well. Could you write me a pass to the office?" Mrs. Meyers gave him a once over, noticing his pale face and shaking hands. Two fever spots had begun to form on his cheeks and there was no doubt in her mind the boy was legitimately ill. It wasn't uncommon for students to feign illness to get out of a test they were unprepared for, but Mike was a good student, one of the best in her class.

"Sure, absolutely. What's wrong?" She asked, pulling a blue slip out of her desk drawer.

"I'm really dizzy, my head hurts. I feel nauseous." Mike mumbled lowly. He paused for a moment. "I didn't finish my test."

Mrs. Meyers didn't miss the twinge of shame in his tone and how he looked at his shoes when he said it. "Oh, Mike, don't worry about that. You can make it up when you get back." She ripped the pass off the pad and handed it to him in exchange for the test. "Just feel better, okay?"

Mike nodded and left the classroom, making a quick stop at his locker to grab his backpack and throw on his hoodie. He'd shed it this morning in first block when he'd started feeling warm, leaving him in only a tight red tee and a pair of cargo shorts. He felt immensely better just putting the extra layer on. He slung the bag over his shoulder and wandered to the office, giving the pass to the secretary and signing himself out – a perk of being newly eighteen.

Mike drove home carefully. He only lived a few miles from the school, but in his condition, he doubted very much that he could drive safely. He parked the jeep in the garage when he got home to Graceland, wishing that he wasn't here all alone. His mom and dad wouldn't be out of work until later and all three of his siblings were off at college until tomorrow when they got out for Christmas.

He dropped his backpack by the shoe rack and hung up his keys before going up to his room and throwing on his favorite pair of track pants. He schlepped to the bathroom and took his temperature. The device read 101.3 and Mike sighed. Midterms were next week, he couldn't be sick.

With a blanket and his wastebasket in hand, Mike went down to the living room and settled on the couch, flipping on the television and surfing through the crappy daytime shows. After about a half hour with no luck, Mike turned to Netflix and cued up one of his favorite foreign films, _Torrente_. His eyelids drooped more and more every minute, and within ten, he was asleep.

When Charlie came home around 2:30, it was not to an empty home. Mike's car was in the garage, which surprised her. He wasn't supposed to get out of school until three.

"Mike?" She called as soon as she was inside. A soft moan was the only reply she received, prompting her to follow the sound into the living room. Her son was huddled up on the couch, looking utterly miserable. "Oh, honey," Charlie cooed, sitting on the coffee table across from him.

"Hi Mom," Mike sighed as she placed a cool hand against his forehead and carded her fingers through his hair.

"You feeling sick, Mikey?" She asked, feeling heat from his forehead.

"Yeah," Mike's eyes closed lightly as she massaged his scalp, easing the pain in his head. "Headache, dizziness, nausea. Starting to feel stuffed up."

"Oh, baby. When did you come home? Why didn't you call?" Charlie asks gently, concern apparent in her tone.

"Left during my third block, around 10:30. I didn't want to worry you so I didn't call."

"Have you taken anything?" Mike shivered and shook his head, snuggling deeper into his blanket. "I'll get you something then," Charlie spoke and disappeared. She returned with a couple of pills and a glass of water which Mike readily swallowed.

"Where's dad?" Mike asked, looking up at her with innocent eyes.

"He's still at work, Babe. And I actually have to go back. I was just stopping by to pick up some overnight bags for us. I'm so sorry Mikey, but this is gonna be a long one." Mike averted his gaze and nodded in understanding. His parents often had to stay away from home for multiple days at a time in order to finish a case. He was used to having the house to himself.

"It's okay," He almost whispers it, not sure he trusts his voice to hide his disappointment. He usually just wanted companionship when he was sick, but now he was going to be all alone.

Charlie smiled softly. "That's my boy. Do you need anything before I go, baby?" Mike shook his head no, and as soon as she came, his mother was gone again. A quick 'I love you" and a kiss to his forehead and Charlie was out the door with the two bags that were already packed.

The remainder of the day was spent sucking on cough drops, sipping ginger ale, and blowing his nose. He was miserable, sick, and lonely. He went to bed at eight thirty, unable to watch another movie or focus enough to read.

By the time the next morning came around, Mike was feeling a little better. His nose wasn't stuffed up and the world wasn't tilting, but his headache still lingered and the nausea had yet to abate. He was dead tired and knew that going to school today was not even remotely an option. At least it was a Friday and he'd have the weekend to recuperate.

Mike was just finishing pouring himself a bowl of Cheerio's when the door creaked open and in walked his siblings. Johnny, Paige, and Dale were all laughing as they rounded the corner to the kitchen, but all stopped abruptly when they saw him. Paige was the first to snap out of her surprise and come to greet him.

"Mikey!" She called, enveloping him in a tight hug. "What are you doing home?"

"Water main break at the school," He lied easily, without thinking. The last thing he wanted to do was spoil his time with his siblings because of a little flu bug.

"Nice, extra day off school," Johnny whistled as he grabbed the OJ from the fridge. Jakes just snatched the bottle from his hands and poured his own glass. Johnny laughed as he grabbed the apple instead. Old habits die hard.

"So what do you want to do on your day off?" Paige asked, resting her elbows on the island across from her younger brother.

Mike shrugged casually. "I'm good with anything. It's up to you guys."

"I really just want to go to the beach," Paige interjected. "It's so snowy at Quantico." Johnny and Dale quickly agreed and soon enough they were all playing football out in the sand.

They played for about an hour and then they just kind of hung out. Paige tanned and the boys exchanged stories. Around noon they walked up the beach to Hector's and ordered lunch. Mike only had one taco, but no one questioned it. They changed into their wetsuits when they got back to catch some waves. Everyone was surfing and having an amazing time.

Well, almost everyone. Mike was just kind of floating, hoping he didn't throw up. Being tossed by the waves was not the best idea for someone who was already nauseous enough. He closed his eyes and swallowed against the bile rising in the back of his throat. The dizziness was back at full force and his entire equilibrium was being thrown off. Mike was almost positive he was going to either vomit or faint.

That was when Paige paddled up next to him. "You good, Mike?" She asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Jus' dizzy," Mike slurred, not opening his eyes. He didn't have the presence of mind to lie to his sister at the moment.

"Wanna go back in?" Mike nodded lightly, allowing her to take hold of his board and paddle them back in. Luckily Mike had stayed close to shore, so Paige could touch the bottom and walk them to the sand.

Mike took his board once they were on steady ground and they walked up to Graceland together. Paige waved at Johnny and Dale before they went in. Mike stripped off his wetsuit and threw on a pair of sweats and a long sleeved tee before coming to sit next to Paige on the couch downstairs.

"Feeling better?" She asked as he sat down. He didn't respond, instead choosing to lay his head down on her shoulder. He was most certainly _not_ feeling better. "No?" Paige turned towards him, displacing his head from her shoulder. "Still dizzy?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, before a tickle caught in his nose and he sneezed loudly into the crook of his elbow. Paige's brows furrowed at this and she reached her hand out to rest on his forehead.

"Mike, you're burning up!" She marveled, resting her hands on his cheeks and finally noticing how drained her sibling looked. His face was sunken and pail and his eyelids drooped. "How long have you felt sick?"

"Since yesterday morning," Mike mumbled apologetically.

"So there wasn't a water main break at school and you were just home sick?" Paige asked, sweeping fallen hairs out of his face. Mike slowly nodded and Paige sighed. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Didn't wanna ruin our time together. You're not exactly home all the time."

Paige grabbed the throw from behind the couch and draped it over both of them, maneuvering Mike to lay down snuggled closely to her. "How about we watch something? That sound good?" Mike nodded and nuzzled into her.

When Johnny and Dale came in fifteen minutes later, Mike was already asleep.

"He's sick," Paige explained in a whisper. "Has been for two days. Just wanted to hang out with us."

Johnny immediately transformed into the concerned older brother. Dale snorted but there was concern on his face.

"Idiot," Dale mumbled. "We're not that cool."

"What's wrong with him?" Johnny asked.

"He's got a fever. He was really dizzy when we were out in the water so we came in, but then he had this epic sneeze. So I'm assuming a tough cold or the flu, but I can't be sure either way." Paige was carding her fingers gently through Mike's thick hair, unintentionally rousing the teen.

"Hey sleeping beauty," Dale greets from behind the couch. "Heard you're sick." Mike just groans and shuts his eyes again.

"Shut up," Mike mutters eloquently.

"We love you too, Mikey."


	4. I Almost Died Today

**Tags and spoilers to episode 1x10, King's Castle. This is for Roxanne who requested a story set after the fight with Bello while Mike was in prison.**

"Charlie," He hissed, crumpled up into a tight ball on the hard linoleum floor. He felt cold as a puddle of warmth pooled around his midsection.

Mike could still hear the shouts of his attacker as he was manhandled from the room and dragged down the hallway, the shouts of a man he had spent so much time with of late. Bello was a criminal, a drug lord, master of violence, but he had believed in Mike.

 _"I trusted you."_ The words echoed in his ears as Charlie knelt beside him and shouted for paramedics. The sudden guilt was like an entirely new knife in his gut. Bello may have been the poster child for illegal activity, but that didn't mean he deserved the cold betrayal he had received.

"Mikey," Charlie lamented, pushing his long bangs out of his eyes. She schooled her grim expression, but Mike had seen the panic in her face. Charlie received a handkerchief from one of the guards and pressed it to the freshly opened wound. Mike grimaced in pain and Charlie lilted a little. "Just a little bit longer, Mikey," She mumbled, "The paramedics are gonna come heal you up."

That evening, all he wanted to do was sleep, collapse into his bed and sink into the sheets, but Charlie made him soup and he felt obligated to eat it. His fresh stitches made sitting a bit of a challenge, so he found himself reclined on the couch listening to Johnny jumping around in the bounce house with Jakes's party entertainment.

His wound throbbed and he grimaced in pain, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position though he doubted one existed. It didn't go unnoticed by Paul, their fearless leader standing watch by the fireplace.

"You okay, Levi?" He asked, hands in his pockets as he ambled over to the younger man. "Not looking so good."

"I could do for some more of those pain killers," Mike hushed out, eyes closing as he jostled his wound. Paul dutifully retrieved two pills and a glass of water for his protégé, helping him sit up enough to take them without choking.

"Seriously, kid," Briggs started, placing the water on a side table, "how do you feel?"

Mike blinked before responding. "Fuzzy. My head hurts."

"Yeah, that's the blood loss. Wanna head upstairs and away from all of this noise?" Briggs offered Mike his hand, helping the younger man to stand up and walking him towards the staircase. They met Charlie on her way down, case folder in hand. "We're calling it a night, Chuck," Paul murmured, prompting her to lay a quick peck on Mike's forehead and mumble a quiet 'goodnight Mikey.'

Paul helped him settle in bed and stayed there until he was sure Mike wouldn't toss and reopen his stitches. He told himself it was just the responsible thing to do, what anyone would have done, but sitting in the darkness he couldn't hide the truth from himself. If this all wasn't his fault, would he be this involved? Briggs sighed to himself. He was a liar and a con and it had hurt those closest to him.

 _Torah, Torah, Torah._

"I'm sorry, kid."


	5. Honesty

**Okay, I know it has been forever since I updated. But I have a legitimate excuse! I've been in Spain for the past month studying abroad with a host family so it was really hard to get access to a computer to update. But I'm home now, so I'll try and get back to more regular updates.**

 **This chapter is for Anonymous, who requested Mike being sick and trying to hide it from the house but they eventually find out, and Briggs and Charlie are very overprotective/concerned. I hope this is what you were looking for!**

He picked at the food in his bowl, unable to find it within himself to actually eat it. It was nothing fancy, just some cinnamon and oatmeal that Paul had whipped up, but he found himself getting more and more drawn towards the idea of dumping it down the sink. He'd always had a small appetite, but today he found he had no appetite at all.

The only problem was his roommates. They were all in the kitchen eating and it would be suspicious if he just dumped his food and left. Mike's original plan had been to wait it out and just hang in there until everyone else left, but one could only fake eat oatmeal for so long. He forced another bite and it left a sour taste in his mouth. He grabbed a swallow of orange juice to wash the distasteful flavor away.

He just kind of sat there on the counter, not really participating in the conversation, and he figures that was his biggest mistake. He hadn't been as good at blending in as he'd thought and soon enough Paul was by his side, a curious glint in his eyes.

"Something wrong with your oatmeal?" Paul asked, eyeing the mostly full bowl with a raised brow. Mike blushed a little and shook his head, but didn't move to continue eating. This rocketed Paul's curiosity up a notch. Mike always ate his fair share of breakfast and usually went back for seconds, but today it seemed like getting through his first helping was a struggle for the young agent.

"Are _you_ okay?" Briggs was more direct with his question this time, hoping for a better response. When Mike just shrugged, Paul was even more surprised. He gently took the bowl from the kid, setting it down on the counter and motioning for Mike to follow him outside to the deck.

Mike hopped off the counter and suppressed a groan as his muscles protested. He felt like one big bruise, but he walked on outside with Paul anyways.

"Seriously, kid, what's your deal?" Paul asked as soon as the door was shut. Mike shrugged again and averted his gaze from Paul's, hoping Paul would accept this and drop the matter. "Not good enough, Mikey. Out with it."

"Just not feeling one hundred percent," Mike finally mumbled, his throat sore and his eyes on the floor. He saw two bare feet coming towards him and looked up into the dark eyes he knew would be there. They were warm and shone with concern. Paul's dark skinned hand found its way to Mike's forehead.

"You're a little warm," Paul sighed, his tone soft as he pulled Mike into a loose embrace. "You must feel like shit to actually admit that to me." Briggs chuckled softly. Mike closed his eyes and laid his aching head on Paul's chest. His mentor was warm and made a lovely pillow. Paul was surprised for a moment at Mike's openness, but he quickly recovered and gently wrapped his arms around the younger man. "You should go up to bed, Mike."

At this, Mike groaned. "No," he mumbled, softly but with determination. He was supposed to be going under to establish himself with a Russian cartel that he and Briggs had been researching for weeks today. He was supposed to meet the head's nephew for lunch and drinks at eleven. There was no way he was going to let a miniscule detail like illness stop him. "I'm okay, Briggs. I can make the meet today."

When Paul just snorted at this, Mike made a discontented hum and snuggled deeper into Paul. Briggs laid a gentle hand on Mike's shoulder, moving his thumb in a circular fashion. He hoped it was as comforting as he intended it to be.

"Alright kid," Briggs said, breaking the contact and pulling away, "You're sitting this one out."

Mike opened his mouth to protest but a stern look from Paul silenced him.

"Now, up to bed or lie down on the couch. It's your choice, but it's one or the other. No highway option." Mike sighed but nodded slowly, turning his head to look in the house. "I'll get you some meds and water, wherever you end up. Just go on in there."

"But what about the sit down with Nikolai?" Mike asked, refusing to let all of their hard work go to waste. "If I don't go, we can't make this deal."

"Wrong," Paul countered, "Johnny can go in your place. You're not fit to be out there right now, so go inside and read case files or something." Briggs sounded nonchalant, like he wasn't completely undermining all the work Mike had done. He'd been working this angle for over a month and now all of a sudden Johnny was going to take his place because of a stupid bug. Mike was pissed but he did as he was told.

Mike walked slowly up the stairs to his room, doing his best not to jostle his aching muscles. Each step was more painful than the last and he was more than happy to flop onto his bed when he finally reached his room.

"What's up, Paul?" Charlie asked as Paul reentered the kitchen, confused. She had seen the small exchange between him and Mike before they went outside. "Is Mikey okay?"

"Eh. He'll live. He's not feeling too well, though," Paul mumbled with a well practiced nonchalance. He was worried about the kid. It took a lot for Mike to admit he wasn't okay. Hell, he'd even tried to convince him to go after Jangles when he got _stabbed_. The kid must be really hurting to give up so easily. "Ah, here it is," Briggs mumbled to himself as he found the little bottle.

"What's wrong with him?" Charlie asked, concern lighting up her features. Her eyebrows wrinkled in concern for the newest member of the house.

"Not sure, Chuck. He's got a fever and a killer headache from what I can tell, but you'd have to ask him beyond that." Charlie nodded slowly, setting her bowl down on the counter next to Mike's and walking to the stairs and ascending them.

"Mikey?" she mumbled to his prone form. "You doing okay, bud?"

Mike made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, sitting up so Charlie could sit next to him. He leaned heavily against her, relaxing his head on her shoulder. Her hand carded lightly through his messy hair and he hummed in pleasure.

"What hurts, Mikey?" Charlie asked, hoping to pinpoint what was ailing her housemate.

"Throat, head," He breathed, dropping his head into his hands. "I just ache all over." He groaned as his stomach churned and pulled his knees up to his chest. He whimpered slightly and for a fleeting moment he felt like he was going to vomit.

"Charlie," He hushed out, "I don't feel good." A chill ran down Mike's spine and he shivered violently. He nuzzled Charlie, trying to leech some of her warmth. Charlie noticed his distress and pulled a blanket over his shoulders.

Charlie pressed her hand to his forehead, noting the warmth there. It didn't feel hot, but she suspected it would soon. Mike looked absolutely awful. His face was flushed a bright pink on his cheeks, the rest a sickly white. His eyes were underscored with dark circles that made it look like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"I know baby, I know," She murmured, hugging him tightly and laying a light kiss on the top of his head. "You need to rest, baby." She coaxed him into a reclined position and tucked him in tightly. "Get some sleep."

 **So... I don't know if this totally satisfies your request because I didn't really highlight Mike hiding his illness, but yeah. I just find something so intimate about a character being honest about the way they feel and pushing through anyway. Sorry, if this wasn't what you were looking for.**


	6. Rookie Blues (And Greens)

Mike was laid out on the couch, hands pressed into his closed eyes. He was officially ready to admit it - he was sick. He'd been battling with a sore throat and a running nose for the past couple of days, but those hardly counted as illness in his book.

However, this morning he'd woken up to a horrid gurgling in his gut and spent the first forty minutes of his day wrapped around the toilet. It was too early to be up, but he couldn't find it within himself to go back upstairs.

He'd come down after he threw up and eaten some saltines and ginger ale before taking a dose of ibuprofen, and the couch had been so inviting. Mike sniffed wetly as he curled into the afghan. Maybe someone else would get up soon and find him.

He hoped it would be Charlie. He could trust Charlie, but the others were a different story. Briggs was his investigation, so that cancelled him out, Johnny just lacked in the caregiver department, Jakes had a heart of stone, and he didn't want Paige to see him like this. So, naturally when the first person to descend the stairs that morning was Paul Briggs, Mike was more than a little disappointed.

"Mikey Mike," Briggs started, "Whatcha doing down here?"

Mike sat up slowly, resting his head in his palms. "Must've fallen asleep on the couch," Mike mumbled lowly, not really sure why he was lying. He had been ready to admit defeat and spend all day sleeping off his illness just mere minutes ago but his lack of trust in Paul Briggs made him wary. "What time is it?"

"6, sun's about to come up," was Paul's answer as he ambled into the kitchen, paying little attention to the rookie on the couch.

Mike nodded and leaned back, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and resting his chin on his chest. His whole body ached and he was desperately craving comfort but now he had to keep up with his lie. He sighed quietly - it wasn't the first time he'd had to sacrifice his comfort for a lie and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Briggs reentered the living room carrying two mugs, handing one to Mike before taking a seat on the opposite couch. Mike took the coffee as the olive branch that it was and took an experimental sip. The drink burned all the way down his throat and sat heavily in his stomach, but it didn't seem to make him feel any worse, so he continued drinking it in the hopes that Paul wouldn't notice anything was wrong.

Luck seemed to be on his side as Paul stood, draining the rest of his mug.

"Alright, I'm headed to the beach. Wanna come?"

"Nah, I've got some stuff to wrap up here today." Mike knew the lie was vague, but Paul didn't question it.

"Alright. See you." And then Briggs was gone and Mike was alone. His limbs protested as he stood to pour out his coffee. God, he felt like shit.

Coffee gone and body aching, Mike carried himself upstairs to his bedroom. It hadn't been a complete lie when he said he had things to do, and there was a stack of paperwork waiting for him on his desk from a case they'd finished three days ago.

He sat at the desk and grabbed his pen, ready to attack the forms. The first few were easy enough, but as he got into the thick of them he was losing momentum. His head was practically swimming in all of the official lexicon.

Deciding that a nap would help him feel less dead, Mike climbed into his bed. It was warm and comfortable and he was out soon enough.

"Mike," Paul Briggs shook the shoulder of his sleeping rookie. "Mike." He felt bad waking the kid but it was absolutely necessary. Mike stirred a little, moaning a grumpy "what."

"Bello called," Paul started and immediately Mike became more lucid. "He wants to go over something with you, yesterday preferably. Up and at em, kid."

Mike groaned and Paul had to work to shove his concern to the side. Mike looked _awful._ His face was pale and his eyes watered as he cracked them open. Not to mention the fact that he'd been asleep in the middle of the day. Mike Warren never napped.

But Paul just ignored it. Mike had slept on the couch the past night, an uncomfortable experience that he knew unfortunately well. And maybe he was just exhausted from all of the hours they'd been putting in lately. Yeah, that was it.

Mike sat up slowly, hands resting on his knees. His stomach churned at the change in position and he had to sit for a moment to calm the nausea. Mike took deep breaths, hoping his mentor hadn't noticed as Paul left the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Mike was driving to the drug lord's mansion and doing his best not to throw up. His tendency towards motion sickness was always multiplied tenfold when ill. He pulled into the driveway feeling significantly worse than he had all day, but he had a job to do.

Bello greeted him and the two began their business. It was nearly three hours and two cigars until the meeting was nearing an end.

By now, Mike was pretty sure he'd never felt worse in his life. Cigars were not the best idea for someone with a grade A case of the flu. His stomach was turning violently and he had to close his eyes briefly and breathe through his nose to keep himself from vomiting on the spot.

"Michael, are you alright?" The Nigerian voice asked with surprising softness.

"No, no," Mike stammered. "I'm not actually feeling very well." Bello's tone softened further.

"Go home then. We are finished here. I will see you in two days." Mike was never so grateful to leave.

The ride back to Graceland was sufficiently unpleasant and by the time Mike returned he was ready to overdose on medicine and pass out until he felt better. But just his luck, Paul and Charlie were waiting for him in the kitchen.

"Mike," Paul leveled him with a heavy stare and for the first time Mike considered that Paul may have heard him admit to feeling poorly over the microphone. "Why didn't you tell someone you weren't feeling well?" Mike just shrugged as Charlie passed him a thermometer. He pressed the device into his ear and handed it back to the woman when it beeped.

"102, Paul." Charlie laid the thermometer on the counter and led Mike into the living room. The comforters from his bed were folded neatly by the couch and his pajamas were laid out on the coffee table. "Go put on your sweats," Charlie directed and Mike didn't have to be asked twice.

Back on the couch, Paul was waiting with the appropriate medicine and as soon as Mike took it he was manhandled under the blankets. Charlie sat on one side of him and Paul on the other.

"Mike," Charlie spoke, "you could have been seriously hurt today. We can't send you out when you are at anything less than your best and I'm disappointed that you didn't trust us enough to tell us you were ill." Mike just burrowed his head into Charlie's shoulder. "We care about you and your wellbeing. What if Bello's meet today hadn't been as benign as it was? You look like you can barely stand, let alone fire a gun if you needed to."

"Chuck, that's enough on the lecture for now," Paul interjected, not looking away from the tv screen. "We can talk about it more when he's feeling better." Charlie nodded and ran a hand through the rookie's hair.

"What are we going to do with you, huh?" She sighed. Mike only snuggled deeper into her side and closed his eyes. "Troublemaker Mike, never thought I'd see the day."

Mike cracked a smile at this as he slowly drifted. He was finally exactly where he wanted to be, warm in the arms of those who cared about him.

 **There we go, a better answer to the hiding illness request by Anonymous. Sorry that I failed on the first one. Enjoy!**


	7. Suspect

**Sorry for the long wait on this update and the confusion about chapter 7. I wrote this chapter on my phone and the formatting when I transferred it to the site was all messed up so I took the post down with the intention of fixing it and reposting. However, I would have had to retype the entire chapter for the formatting to work and I simply don't have the patience to do that, so I'm going to post it as is and I'm apologizing in advance for how weird it looks. This chapter is for A.**

Mike held the phone against his ear, his body leaning heavily against the counter. He had been feeling off for the past two or three days and this morning he woke up feeling significantly worse. He sighed as the dial tone cutoff and was replaced with a male voice.  
"Clarke, yeah, this is Agent Warren. I'm not gonna be able to make it in today." Mike's voice was gravelly on the other end of the line.  
"And why is that?"  
"I'm not feeling well at all, Sir - fever, sore throat - the whole nine yards." Mike crossed his fingers that his boss would cut him some slack. He'd been working odd hours the past few weeks and his number of overtime hours was bordering on ridiculous.  
"Well, you don't have any active cases so I guess it's alright if you take the day," Clarke conceded.  
"Thank you sir," Mike responded gratefully, his eyes closed and his head resting against the door of the fridge.  
"Feel better, Warren."

* * *

"Agent Warren, glad to hear from you. Doing any better?" Clarke was casual but his tone said that Mike had better be back at work.  
"Unfortunately no, sir. I've been throwing up all night and it's just not going to be possible for me to make it in." Mike for his part sounded exhausted, but Clarke was still a little peeved.  
"Sorry to hear that, but I really need you back at work." Clarke's voice was serious.  
"I'm sorry sir, and if there was any way I could come in I would."  
"Well, I'll send some paperwork home with Paul for you," Clarke sighed. "I expect to see you back soon."  
"As soon as possible sir," the weak voice responded on the other line.  
"Alright. Get better, Agent Warren."  
Clarke hung up, irritated. Mike had seemed perfectly fine to him two days ago when he had seen him, if not a little jittery. How had he become so ill so fast? It seemed suspicious to him. Deciding that he couldn't do anything more on the matter, he rose and strode to Paul Briggs's desk.  
"I've got some paperwork for Warren. Take it to him." Paul just stared at the pike of work. "I'll expect it to be done by the tomorrow."  
Paul seemed uneasy. "With all due respect sir, Mike is seriously ill. He's running a high fever. I sincerely doubt he can do paperwork in his condition." Paul watched Clarke, gauging his reaction, but to his surprise, Clarke just dropped the files on the desk and stalked back to his office. Didn't look like he'd be cutting Mike any slack on this one.

* * *

"Agent Briggs," Clarke greeted warmly. "What can I do for you?"  
"Yeah, well, it's about Mike."  
"Agent Warren? Is he still sick?" Clarke pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. He was quickly tiring of this game. In truth, he was beginning to doubt just how sick Mike really was.  
"Beyond. He won't be in." Paul held his breath, waiting for the inevitable blow up from Clarke.  
"Well, at this point, I don't have a choice but to say it's fine. However, if he isn't in tomorrow morning at eight AM sharp, there will be hell to pay." The 'or else' was implied in Clarke's tone and Briggs knew his rookie was in hot water.  
"Thanks, Clarke. He's just really not well enough to work yet." Clarke snorted. Mike was probably out of town on some escapade or another, ditching his responsibilities like an immature teenager. This was Warren's job, his career, and Clarke was extremely displeased to see Warren wasn't putting it first.  
"That's not my problem. His work, however, is. Get him back on his feet and in my office." Briggs gulped.  
"I will, sir."

* * *

The next morning, a disheveled Michael Warren entered the headquarters office at 7:52, looking every bit as ill as he felt. While his hair was combed and his clothes were neat, the agent underneath them looked absolutely terrible. His eyes were red and his skin was pale, red fever spots highlighting his cheeks.  
Mike took the chance to collapse into his desk chair the moment he got to work, his head pounding and his stomach doing flip flops. It was hard for Mike to believe how quickly this day had gone downhill.  
Last night, Mike had felt worlds better. He had even felt up to eating dinner with his housemates, a big step up from not being able to keep anything down. But when he woke up this morning it was like it had all started over.  
Mike rested his head in his palms, his hands blocking the light from his eyes. He felt awful, but he had to get through today at work. The agent rose and wandered to Agent Clarke's office to find out what his assignment for the day would be.  
"Not now, Charlotte," Clarke mumbled at the knock on his door, not looking up from his work. "I'm bu- Oh, Warren."  
"I was just wondering what you have for me today," Mike croaked, clearing his throat. Clarke rose slowly from his desk and walked around to where Mike was standing. The agent looked like he would keel over any second. Clarke placed a gentle hand on his agent's forehead, concern blossoming in his chest for the young man.  
"You're running a fever," Clarke murmured lowly, mindful of the headache Mike was no doubt fighting. "I'm sorry for making you come in. You can go home and get some rest."  
"Thanks, Clarke." Mike mumbled, turning and walking from the office to grab his things. He was ready to go home and sleep for a week.  
He'd be back in fighting shape with just another day or two of rest.


	8. Thunderclap

The smoke wafted around their table at The Drop. Johnny, Paul, Dale, and Mike had gone out for a guy's night to celebrate the wrap up of a major case. Things had been rough the past few weeks, all of them under with a hard core drug lord who preferred gunfire to greetings. Today, they had put him away. Alcohol and bar food was just what they needed.

Mike crunched loudly on a pretzel and chased it with a swig of Sam Adams. He was well on his way to tipsy, but the night was far from over.

"Yo, guys, lets shoot some pool," Johnny declared, holding his beer out and swirling it as he rose from the table. "You guys get it set up. Mikey and I'll grab another round."

Johnny and Mike wandered to the counter while Paul and Dale gathered the striped and solid pool balls, chalking the cue tips.

"Damn, son," Johnny whistled, subtly pointing to a brunette across the bar, "She is a ten." The Drop wasn't especially busy, but there were plenty of cute girls hanging around and Johnny could flirt like the best of them.

"Go," Mike motioned with his head. "I'll get the drinks." Johnny offered him a fist bump as he skittered away. Mike just shook his head, laughing to himself. Johnny was good looking and all, but he didn't have a chance with a girl like that.

Johnny got to the pool table only a few minutes after Mike, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. "Taken," he glared at Mike's knowing smirk. Mike just sipped his drink with a smile. "We playing or what?" Johnny slurred, prompting Paul to line up his shot. Dale lifted the rack and Paul's cue stick collided with the white ball.

And just like that, it's like something in Mike's head burst. Sparks of pain lit up behind his eyes and his vision blurred.

"Oh fuck," he stuttered, sagging backwards and leaning heavily against the nearest table. He wrapped his hands around his aching head, the pressure only building inside his skull. He clenched his eyes shut in a vain attempt to lessen the pain.

"Mikey!" Johnny was the first to come to his aide. "Dude, are you okay? What's happening?" Mike just moaned lowly, feeling around for a chair to sit in before his legs gave out.

"Johnny," Mike hushed out once he was seated. "Get me home, _now_."

"Can you walk?" Paul asked from somewhere, but Mike couldn't pinpoint it. The pained man just mumbled an affirmative and Paul grabbed the keys, moving out for the jeep. Dale hurried to pay their tab and Johnny helped Mike up and outside. Once they were all in the car, Paul sped towards Graceland, heat run be damned. One of his own was in pain, and by the looks of it, severe pain.

The moment the jeep was in park, Mike bolted for the door and hobbled through the main floor to the bathroom. He threw up within moments of arriving, his throat burning as the alcohol reappeared. When he was finished he sank back against the tiled wall, his eyes drifting shut and tears streaming down his face.

Only when a rough hand caressed the side of his face did he realize he wasn't alone. Paul's deeply concerned eyes were trained on Mike, memorizing every little detail. The young agent's forehead was coated in a sheen of sweat and corners of his eyes were taut with pain.

"Mike, what's going on?" Paul asked softly, deeply unsettled. Whatever this was, it had come on fast, and that couldn't mean anything good.

"Thunderclap headache," the hoarse voice strained. Mike swallowed harshly, feeling the nausea return. "They're really intense and peak in sixty seconds. I haven't had one in years."

"This has happened before?" Paul demanded.

"All the time when I was a teenager," Mike mumbled, shivering on the cold bathroom floor. "I'd always get them when I was coming down with something and they'd always make me throw up."

Briggs sat back on the ground for a moment, absorbing the new information he'd just been presented. Why wasn't any of this in Mike's file?

"You said you only get them when you're coming down with something?" Briggs clarified. At Mike's nod, Paul reached over and palmed the kid's head to check for fever. Following the pattern, Mike was burning up. "Definite fever, kid. Were you feeling alright at The Drop?"

"Yeah," Mike assured him, "just tired. But we're all tired after the bust today, so I didn't think much of it." Mike winced as his head throbbed, not going unnoticed by Briggs.

"What usually helps when you get these?"

"I just need to go to sleep, maybe an Advil to make it more bearable. It normally goes away after an hour or two."After a moment, Mike swore. "Shit. I can't take any meds because we were drinking." Briggs smiled in sympathy, helping Mike stand and leading him out of the bathroom. "Just to the couch," Mike corrected when Briggs steered him towards the staircase. "Not sure I can handle stairs yet."

When the two turned the corner into the living room, Paige, Charlie, Dale, and Johnny moved so there was space for the poor kid to lie down. Johnny turned off the TV set and grabbed a blanket from the ottoman to drape over his roommate.

"Dale, could you turn out the lights?" DJ flicked them off quickly and Briggs felt the muscles in Mike's body relax. Depositing the agent on the couch, Briggs wandered to the kitchen, returning with a thermometer. He popped it in Mike's ear while the others looked on. "99.7, kid. You're just heating up." Mike hummed in agreement, snuggling into the blanket and trying to relax.

"Guys, let's give him some peace and quiet," Dale proposed and the five of them ventured to the kitchen. Paul explained the situation to them, careful to keep his voice low so as not to disturb Mike.

"Why didn't he say anything?" Charlie wondered. "That seems like a pretty significant health risk for a field agent. One of these headaches hits while he's under and he's got a big problem."

"I'm wondering the same thing, Chuck," Paul murmured. "But for now the best we can do is try and keep him comfortable. This thing should be gone in a couple of hours, but he's sick so he probably won't feel much better when he wakes up." The group all nodded in understanding. They'd take good care of their newest member.

Mike woke up feeling foggy like he always did after a thunderclap. He was too hot and his throat was raw from throwing up last night. He should have gotten a drink before he went to bed. Mike sneezed harshly and cursed. He hated being sick.

But then a small groan rose to his ears from across the room. Sprawled out on the other couch was none other than Paul Briggs, Johnny and Paige on the floor below him. Another glance showed him that Charlie was crashed out in the armchair to his left, Jakes at her feet. A warm feeling welled up inside of Mike at the sight of his housemates.

Mike may hate being sick, but it looked as if he was going to have plenty of people around to take care of him.


	9. Grump

His eyes snapped open, a jolt of fear running through him as he returned to reality. God, that was one hell of a nightmare. Mike surveyed his tangled sheets with a sigh; he usually _never_ tossed during the night and would wake in the same position as when he went to sleep. But, apparently, today was an exception.

The clock read 5:32 and Mike groaned. His alarm wasn't supposed to go off for another few hours, but he was far too rattled to fall back asleep. The sweat-soaked sheets clung to his body and he was beginning to feel overheated and claustrophobic. Maybe if he got up, changed his sheets, and took a shower he'd feel better. Yeah, a shower would calm him down.

Mike stripped the bed and made a pile by his door to launder later before climbing into the shower. The cool beads of water relaxed his tense muscles and mollified his earlier stress. As soon as he got out of the shower, he threw on pajamas and remade his bed, climbing in and double checking that his alarm was still set. Once he was reassured, he fell into a light sleep.

Of course, the morning seemed to come in no time at all. Nine o'clock found the agent groggily fumbling for his phone to silence the blaring alarm. His head was pounding and the aches from earlier in the day had resettled in his muscles. All Mike wanted to do was stay in bed a few more hours and sleep off whatever was making him feel so miserable, but there was no way he would admit weakness to the others.

So FBI Agent Michael Warren peeled himself from the bed and folded Mike back into the sheets, quickly dressing and fixing his hair. Downstairs he heard Johnny, Paige, and Jakes already in the kitchen. Johnny had made oatmeal with cinnamon and brown sugar and there was fruit out on the counter, but Mike wasn't really that interested in eating. He grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and listened to the others chatting while he dished himself a small portion.

"Look who finally decided to join us!" Jakes poked from the other side of the island. Mike raised his eyebrows at him in place of words, mutely beginning to consume the oatmeal.

"Yeah, Sleeping Beauty. You almost missed breakfast," Paige teased, making pointed gestures with her spoon. Mike's eyebrows furrowed at this, however, as he'd gotten up with his alarm. It couldn't possibly be any later than 9:15. But he was proven wrong when he glanced at the clock and it read 9:40. He must have taken longer to get ready than he thought.

"It's not like you to sleep in, Warren, so what gives?" Johnny probed with false curiosity. "Up late talking with East Coast Girl? Or was it something dirtier—"

"Where's Paul?" Mike interrupted, not liking the direction the conversation was going.

"He and Charlie left early this morning to gather Intel on a case. They said they'd be back late." Mike sighed and scooped up the last of his oatmeal, setting his dirty dishes in the sink.

"Thanks," He mumbled, schlepping from the kitchen to the couch in the living room and dropping down onto it ungracefully. The little food he had forced down was making him feel a bit queasy and his headache had only been exacerbated by the conversation with his roommates. Mike whimpered softly as his stomach turned and closed his eyes, resting his head on the armrest. He felt terrible, miserable. And the one person he wanted wasn't around.

Mike shivered in his spot on the couch and reached up for the throw blanket they kept over the top of the sofa. He didn't care if his roommates saw or what they thought. So long as they left him alone he didn't care.

That was the thing about Mike. Out in the field and in his career, he couldn't wait to be the center of attention and be the focus of the bust. He liked control. Agent Warren craved acceptance and adoration. Thing is, though, Mike didn't like attention when he was not at his best.

Mike heard Jakes mumble something about a "grouchy asshole" but he ignored it. He just wanted to sleep until Paul came home.

Paige and Jakes did a good job keeping clear of Mike, knowing just how bad an idea it was to mess with him when he was in a mood like this, but the same couldn't be said for Johnny. Johnny cleaned up the breakfast dishes and then came over and sat into a chair next to him on the couch.

"Mike," Johnny started, "what's going on with you?" Mike for his part didn't turn away from Johnny and ignore his question, but he just shrugged underneath his blanket. That was probably the most civil answer he could manage without snapping at his friend.

"Come on, man, be real with me. You've said like two words all day and you barely ate anything for breakfast." Johnny was worried, and logically Mike knew that, but he still hated it.

"Go away," Mike mumbled, staring right past Johnny's shoulder as his cheeks reddened in embarrassment. He wanted to cry; Johnny wasn't supposed to be doting on him because of a stupid virus. He was sure Johnny had noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his complexion and internally he was screaming. He felt like a child. Before Mike knew what was happening, a hand was coming to rest on his forehead and one to his cheek.

"You don't feel warm," Johnny mused. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Perfectly fine." Mike closed his eyes as he responded, exhausted and annoyed by the short interaction.

"Do you need anything?" Johnny asked, concern etching his features as he observed the showman. _Paul_ , Mike wanted to say, but he didn't. Instead he shook his head and pulled the throw blanket up to his chin.

"Just some space, Tuttoro," Mike snapped and immediately regretted it as the man recoiled from him, standing and raising his hands in a gesture that said _sorry I asked_. Mike sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as Johnny's footsteps retreated. He knew he was a jerk when he was sick, but it was the worst feeling to know that he had hurt _Johnny_. Surrendering to his exhaustion, Mike let himself drift off.

When Mike woke up hours later, it was to silence. He sat up slowly, biting back a groan as his muscles protested. God, he was sick. The world tilted as he stood, and the swirling room was enough for Mike to fall back onto the couch, his head throbbing and his stomach twisting.

He felt bile rising to the back of his throat and knew he had approximately three seconds to get to the bathroom. He could barely see past the dizzying spinning but somehow he made it to the bathroom just in time to toss back up all he'd had for breakfast and the Thai food from the night before.

When he finished retching he sagged against the cool tiles, letting his head fall back to rest on the wall. He hadn't been this sick since high school. Mike almost burst into tears right there on the bathroom floor. His whole body hurt, Paul was nowhere to be found, and everyone else was avoiding him.

Feeling sorry for himself and realizing he didn't care anymore who thought he was weak, Mike lifted himself from the floor and began the search for the other agents. He came up empty handed until he got to the kitchen, where he found a post it note scrawled in Paige's messy cursive.

 _We went out to get a bite to eat. Thought we'd give you some space. Back by eight. -P_

And that was essentially the end of Mike's tenuous hold and the tears began to stream from his eyes. He wasn't just sick—he was sick and _alone._

In minutes he'd pulled himself back together. He would be okay. He'd been on his own before and it wasn't as if no one was ever coming back. They'd be back, Mike reassured himself as he made the trek back to the living room. He flipped on the television and scrolled through the channels, not really paying any attention.

But then the front door opened and that got _all_ of his attention. Paige, Jakes, and Johnny entered the kitchen and stowed their take out boxes in the fridge. Paige was the first to approach him.

"Hey, Mike," She mumbled lowly, hoping he was in a better mood than he had been in this morning.

"Hey," he mumbled shortly, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

"Charlie and Paul hit some traffic so they'll be a little later, but they're on their way home," Paige ventured, not sure how Mike would react. The only person who Mike ever really tolerated when he was upset was Paul, and while Paige had yet to identify why Mike was so out of sorts she was positive the only thing he wanted was the company of their leader. "Do you want anything to eat? I can make you something."

Mike just shook his head, pulling his blanket tighter around his tense frame. He had no appetite. Rationally he knew it was a good idea to eat, but he couldn't find it within himself to do anything about that.

"Are you sure?"

"Not sure I can keep anything down," Mike sighed miserably and realization hit Paige like a truck. Mike was sick. _Of course_. Seeing the situation under a new lens, Paige moved and sat in a chair by the couch.

"Paul will be home soon, Mike," She hummed, not moving her eyes from the television screen. She felt the agent's eyes focus on her but she didn't meet them. He was embarrassed enough (however unnecessarily). Paige stood slowly, patting Mike's shoulder as she retreated to the kitchen. She could make soup without too much trouble, and at the moment she wasn't sure what else Mike would want.

When the broth was finished, Paige poured a generous portion into a mug and made up a tray with crackers.

"Here," she murmured, placing the spread on the coffee table in front of him. "You need to eat."

Mike for his part didn't argue and began drinking the broth, but he did so without a word. He was even refusing to make eye contact with her. Paige sighed in a combination of pity and frustration. She knew Mike wasn't at his best but he was acting like a sullen teenager.

A few minute passed before the door creaked open and Mike snapped out of his stupor. Charlie walked in and closed the door behind her, and Mike visibly sagged. Where was Paul? To Paige's dismay, Mike's mood seemed to have worsened. The agent pushed the mug and crackers away from himself and sank farther into the couch, the frown on his face deepening.

Paige stood and joined Charlie in the kitchen, where she was unloading groceries. "Where's Paul?" She asked, putting the milk into the fridge.

"He just had to drop in at Headquarters and update Clarke on what we found today. He'll be back in an hour, tops."

"Can you get him home any sooner?" Paige implored, her eyes desperate.

"Why?" Charlie asked, not understanding why her friend wanted Paul so badly.

"It's Mike. He's been in a bad mood all day and it turns out he's pretty sick. He's been waiting for Paul to come home since this morning." Charlie smiled sadly.

"Poor kid. I'll text Paul."

…

"Mike?" Paul gently roused the rookie, wincing at the fever he felt. Mike was sprawled out on the couch. He'd fallen asleep soon after Charlie's arrival and his subsequent disappointment.

"Paul," the rookie breathed, relief evident in his tone as he sat up. Paul gently lowered himself onto the couch next to Mike and rested a hand on his forehead.

"Jesus, kid, you're burning up." Mike just nodded.

"I know."

Paul ran a hand through Mike's hair. "You need to take something for the fever but I want to target it at your other symptoms. What's hurting?"

"Head, throat, stomach," Mike listed, his fatigue seeping into his voice. Paul took a minute to consider before separating himself from the kid and grabbing the desired pills. Mike swallowed them with a sip of water before settling back into the couch.

"You should go up to bed, Mike," Paul advised, but Mike just shook his head no and grabbed the TV remote. Paul was here and Mike was finally content to be looked after. The two watched reruns until both were asleep.


	10. Rainy Day

The rain poured harshly outside the house that night. It had been raining for most of the day, but in the last hour or so lightning had started to flash and rumbling could be heard off in the distance. The waves were rolling in tall and rough on the shore and the wind blew harshly. They were in for one heck of a storm. Rain was rare in Southern California, but when it rained, it rained _hard_.

Five members of the house sat around the table in the kitchen, drinking and laughing, blissfully unaware of the sixth sitting just out of sight in the foyer. This sixth member was none other than Mike Warren, head crashed on a pillow and covered lightly in a blanket, staring straight up through the skylight at the brewing storm.

Mike listened to the pitter pat of the beads of water hitting the glass, absently twisting the loose threads of the blanket. He closed his eyes gently as he listened, relishing the relief it brought his aching head. He'd been feeling off all day, his stomach turning and his nose running. He knew he was probably getting sick, but he hoped that if he just ignored it, it would go away. No such luck. Instead, it was sucking his appetite, focus, and energy.

Mike had decided he should tell someone he felt awful and come downstairs for a little while, but hearing their laughter had anchored him to this spot in the foyer and he'd cuddled up right in the middle of the floor to watch the rain. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb their fun. Besides, he was good at self seclusion. He groaned as his stomach twisted, clenching his closed eyes and curling in on himself. Mike clutched his stomach as he rode out the wave of nausea. The world seemed to tilt all around him. When it passed, Mike reopened his eyes and sat up slowly.

Deciding he didn't care if he interrupted his roommates, Mike pulled himself up off of the floor and gathered his blanket and pillow. He wanted comfort, and he'd gladly take whatever they would offer. He shuffled slowly through the living room, depositing his things on the couch before moving into the kitchen. The five of them were finishing a round of euchre when he walked in, Paige and Paul with seven points and Johnny and Dale with six. Charlie was sitting next to Paul, watching the resident cheater for potential renege or stealing the deal.

Since Charlie wasn't actually playing, Mike gravitated towards her. Gently sitting himself down next to her on the bench seat, he pulled his moccasin-clad feet up to rest on the edge and leaned his head on her shoulder. Charlie was surprised at Mike's sudden presence—she hadn't seen him since that morning—but welcomed him nonetheless, mumbling a greeting and rubbing a hand over his knee. Mike moaned a little in response, pulling his knees as tightly to himself as he could as a pang of nausea rolled through his aching frame.

Seeing her housemate's apparent distress, Charlie shot him a concerned glance. Mike didn't seem to notice, though, content with resting on her shoulder and trying his best not to move.

"You okay, Mikey?" Charlie felt the words pass her lips as she took notice of his flushed cheeks and the slight sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. When the younger just proceeded to shake his head gently and clench his eyes shut, she started to really worry.

"Don't feel good," Mike mumbled lowly into her neck as he tried to snuggle closer to her. She was warm and he was not. Charlie sighed at this, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. Mike shivered through his hoodie and track pants, still cold despite the fact that it was nearly eighty degrees outside.

At this, the others turned their attention towards their seemingly ill roommate. Mike noticed their eyes on him, but offered little explanation to their questioning gazes, instead opting to cuddle further into Charlie.

"You don't feel well? What's wrong?" Paige asked from the end of the table, reaching over to place a hand on Mike's clammy forehead. "You're a little warm."

"Stomach hurts. Headache," Mike sniffled, trying not to lose it because he just hurt so much. "Feel awful."

"You sound awful, too. Is your throat sore?" Briggs asked, voice laced with unease. When Mike just nodded, Briggs sighed and stood up from the table. Paul walked over to the medicine cabinet and pulled out the appropriate pills which Mike dry-swallowed when he returned with them.

Charlie pushed a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes out of his face, taking in his ashen pallor and fever bright eyes. He looked terrible. "How long have you been feeling sick?" She asked as she studied his ailing form.

"Since last night," Mike admitted, accepting the thermometer that Paul pressed to his lips. It beeped after a moment and Charlie read the number to him. She knew that 100.7 was nothing to worry too much about, but she still felt a pang of concern for her youngest roommate. The kid wasn't technically her responsibility, but hell, sometimes it felt that way. The agents in Graceland were her family and she would always feel responsible.

Paul hoisted Mike up out of his seat next to Charlie and helped him walk into the living room, laying him down lightly on the couch. Mike curled up into a ball as Johnny spread a light blanket over him. He clenched his eyes tightly as the world swam in and out of focus.

"Here's this if you need it," Paul supplied as he set a trash can on the floor by Mike's head. Mike cracked an eye open to look at the proffered object before lightly nodding and turning onto his back. Chances were good he'd need it within the hour, at this rate.

Paige sat down in a chair kitty corner from her roommate, turning the TV on low volume to Mike's favorite channel. It was going to be a long day.


End file.
